When You Say Nothing At All
by Conviction
Summary: He was watching her now—she could practically feel the force of his eyes along the planes of the side of her face. Hermione and Draco.


When you say nothing at all…

She sat beside him with a blank look on her face, staring out into the grey cloudy English morning. It wasn't the most inspiring or encouraging scene. They'd been fighting, again. They'd been doing it a ridiculous amount lately.

But now she didn't feel like talking. All the words that had been roiling and churning around in her head and thoughts had been drained away by the cold gloomy weather, and what was left was an empty stillness. The cold wind nipped at her nose and played with the errant snarls of hair that had escaped her messy bun. Her cheeks were red with the scraping cold, the clothes she'd slept in after sneaking back in late the night before were rumpled, her lips set in a grim line.

She felt older than her years. Like she'd seen and felt and fought through more than she should have. As though even her emotions had been pushed past the point of trial to the point where she ceased to feel them entirely. So she sat on the cold stone ledge, and they might as well have been a hundred miles apart. The silence sat like an oppressive cloud between them, and it was as though their words would get lost in it anyway. So neither of them spoke, each tangled up in their own thoughts.

How do you set about repairing something when you're not even sure it's worth repairing? Her mind was caught up in its arguments and was set that she should never speak to him again, and her heart was in a numb state, completely shut off from everything. It was a strange heaviness, inside and without, pressing on her chest and prickling in her eyes, weighing down all her limbs. How do you move on?

She sunk her teeth into her lip ruthlessly as the faint rumors of tears started to burn in the corners of her vision. She blinked quickly, shutting them away fiercely. She still felt half-dead, like the shell of a person—how could she be crying?

But here she was, sitting beside him. Because no matter what happened or how much they tried to convince themselves that they hated each other, they always ended up back together. They hadn't been looking for each other this morning, they simply found each other. They'd been cold to one another, colder than the icy air snapping around them, neither of them willing to break the silence. But they walked side by side, by instinct, and when one of them sat down, the other did so automatically.

And here they were, and they couldn't get around the cloying stillness that had settled like atrophy over both of them. She felt like a grimy mess, but it was a consolation that he didn't look much better. His hair was mussed and there were dark circles under his eyes—at least she hadn't been alone in her sleeplessness the previous night. The thought gave her a shallow sort of consolation.

The hollowness inside was starting to bleed raw on the edges again. She turned her head slightly, closing her eyes a moment and taking a steadying breath. It hurt. She was so sick of it hurting. Of the rush and the plunge. The thrill had bled away, it seemed, and left nothing but a vicious cycle that she was still trapped in, still addicted to.

Because his presence beside her was still such a comfort.

And the silence cut deep, but that sensation was better than the emptiness of separation. She wished she could know what he was thinking, what was whirling around in his head at that moment. But she couldn't even bring herself to look at him, and he was staring off into the distance, and they were both focusing on nothing to distract themselves. She wondered if he was failing as badly as she was.

The feeling of his hand covering her cold one on the stone between them sent her thoughts skidding into oblivion. There was a silent question in the press of his fingers enveloping hers. Her heart clenched, and a sob threatened at the contact. Without stopping to analyze and ponder and think her actions through all the way, she simply reacted to the ache gnawing at her and turned her hand in his hold, clasping her fingers with his.

He was watching her now—she could practically feel the force of his eyes along the planes of the side of her face. She hesitated, but couldn't help herself. Turning slowly, she looked up into his eyes. Instead of the cold, shielded emptiness she'd glimpsed earlier that morning, his eyes were wide and stripped, with a piercing desperation and confusion that laced through her.

A hot tear burned its way down her pale cheek.

He made a soft, pitying sound and cradled her face in his other hand, brushing away the errant trail with his thumb. He rubbed small, comforting circles into the nape of her neck with his long fingers, and leaned forward to brush a soft kiss against her temple.

It seemed that every time they tried to talk about things that it just ended up in a fight. The world was too big, too confusing, too full of conflict and questions. The future was an ominous thing without enough directions for how to navigate it, and they couldn't express what they were feeling in the moment, let alone what they wanted out of the future, or more importantly how to get it.

So she leaned against him, sheltering herself in his warmth. He wrapped his arm tightly around her, and they sat side by side without saying a word. And for now the silence was so much more uncomplicated, and they were both so tired of the division.

Without saying anything at all, they understood one another so well.

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I'm back! I know it's been a while, but HPB has kind of sparked it up again for me. I'm getting through writing a new chapter for the Theory (if anybody was still wondering). Draco was pretty much amazing in the new movie.


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